Page 49 of Jack Frosting

“Hey, you’re the one parading around the house with your perfect ass in those tight little shorts.”

“No, I believe you started it when you left your sex dungeon unlocked,” I replied.

“You didn’t have to open the door.”

“Oh, be quiet. You’re glad I did. It gave you a chance to perv on my semi-conscious body and it led to you fucking me almost every day.”

Clayton was silent for a few seconds before he said, “True.”

We drove in relative silence the rest of the way, though he rested his hand on my thigh and slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth. I didn’t want to ruin something so sweet by mentioning he was making my dick rock-hard, but he was. Thankfully, my bulky sweater covered it up because the thin material of my slacks would not be able to do that.

“I don’t even want to find a parking spot. I think I’ll do valet.”

“Makes sense.” I wasn’t too familiar with the area. It was a new restaurant that Gareth had found a few months ago. This was Clayton and I’s first visit. We hadn’t been on too many public dates yet…something that maybe now we could aim for since he called me his boyfriend.

Gareth was anxiously pacing the foyer when we found him.

“Jack!” He gave me a big hug. “You two are the last to arrive.”

“Sorry, I was working and had to shower at the gym and-”

“He forgot his clothes,” Clayton finished for me. “I didn’t think we were that late.”

“You’re not.” Gareth checked his watch again. “Everyone else was early. You can grab a drink at the bar or head into the room and order in there. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before Eli’s here. He just texted he’s leaving work.”

I leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Try not to worry. The hard part’s over. You did great.”

“Thanks. I can relax once he gets here.” Gareth sighed. “Coat check is behind me.” He motioned over his shoulder.

Clayton’s wallet fell out while he took his jacket off and it exploded all over the floor. I knelt to help him pick everything up, including his license.

“Hold up.”

Clayton stopped what he was doing to look at me, then his eyes saw what I was holding. “Don’t say-”

“Your real name is Opal? Clayton’s your middle name?”

“Ugh.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Yes.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?” I asked, knowing the answer.

We finished gathering what had fallen out as he answered, “Never if I could help it.”

“It’s a pretty name,” I said with a smile.

“Don’t patronize me.” He took what was in my hand before we turned our coats in. “My parents were hippies. I went by Clayton when I moved to a new high school. The principal took pity on me and changed the records, so I never had to explain to another teacher again what to call me.”

I could tell this was something I wasn’t going to be able to tease him about – at least not right away – but I needed to say something. As we turned away from the coat check and headed for the bar, I leaned in to whisper, “At least I know which gemstone to order for my new buttplug.”

Clayton smiled, squeezed my hand, then said, “That kind of teasing I’ll allow.”

Drinks in hand, we waited in a room filled with relative strangers. It seemed Clayton didn’t know many of them either. After a few minutes, a man that looked vaguely familiar approached us.

“Clayton?”

I smiled instinctively.

Clayton held out his hand. “Yes, and you are Lane? I think.”